


What Am I Supposed To Do When The Best Part Of Me Was Always You?

by Johnlockthedoors



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:07:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1961397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlockthedoors/pseuds/Johnlockthedoors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Sherlock,</p>
<p>With ultimate love and affection.</p>
<p>Yours truly and for always,</p>
<p>John Hamish Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Am I Supposed To Do When The Best Part Of Me Was Always You?

**Author's Note:**

> ***********************************************************  
> I'm sorry!! Perhaps a chapter 2 will arise? It's always a possibility and, to be honest, I've been considering it before even finishing this one.)
> 
> This was supposed to be smutty : It isn't.
> 
> This was supposed to then be all fluffy : It Isn't.
> 
> This was meant to be happy : It isn't.
> 
> I'm sorry. So, so sorry.
> 
> But this is not a happy love story. This is the result of being cut off from the world, no internet, no phone, going slightly crazy, changing moods and then going to see The Fault In Our Stars with my best friend and then deciding well, best finish this fic! Again...I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to be sad.)

  Things at 221B have been intense as of late. We haven't had a case for weeks and Sherlock is literally trying to climb out of his own skin. I have tried almost everything in my power to calm him but nothing seems to work. I'm about to give up and let him have just one doze of cocaine, just to shut him up. I don't want to but it's getting to the point that I am desperate and there is only so much tea can do.

  That's when it hits me. What is probably the most ridiculous idea I've ever had and yet, quite possibly the best. He needs something new and interesting to focus on. He needs something different and exciting, something mind blowing and stimulating, something he's never had before. He needs sex!!

  Sherlock, for all intents and purposes, has divorced himself from all feelings and desires known to the human persona. Sex was something he rarely, if ever, indulged in. I decided that if this was to be done at all it had to be done properly. So, a series of questions and tests were to be had and we needed to lay down base rules and limitations. He may not think he needs them but I do and I know that if this is to be his first time, we need to take things slow. A bonus that, for if this criminal dry spell is to go on, we need something to keep him occupied for quite a while.

  I decide that it's best to start with questions he might not feel so uncomfortable with. I'll work up to the more personal ones at a later time. I want this to work, not only for his sanity, but for the sake of my sex drive and my mad desire to have this man in every and any possible position I can manage. Yes, things at 221B have been and are about to become, very intense.

  “Sherlock?” He raises his head from his lying position on the sofa in acknowledgement. “Yes, John?” I walk to the sofa and nudge him as I lay his tea on the coffee table. “How are you feeling today? Anything on?” I ask, knowing there's nothing. “Ugh, nothing! No murders, no consulting criminals, even my brother is behaving and staying out of my way. Dull.” He sits up and takes the tea in his hands, sipping it and then looks up at me. “You mind if we have a little chat then?” I say as I sit next to him on the sofa. “A chat, John? Really?” He rolls his eyes but I notice the tiniest hint of a smile. “Yes, a chat. I think I've found something to quell that bloody overactive brain of yours. Well, for a bit, at least.” He snorts then and takes a mouthful of tea, clearly enjoying it more than usual. “I have an idea okay but it requires you being honest with me. Can you do that?” Sherlock stops mid sip and swallows. He turns to meet my eyes and smirks. God, I love it when he looks into my eyes like this. “Of course, John. Total honesty with you. Always.” I grin and take a sip of my tea feeling, well, pretty damn special. “Well, I was thinking that we haven't really gotten to know one another, not really, not the way good mates do. So I thought perhaps we could ask each other some questions, you know, stuff we have always wondered about.”

  Sherlock looked at me then, like he could see right through to my soul. Humph, he probably could. I was the most blatantly obvious person in the world, to him, most days. Though he did tell me that I am also one of the only ones to ever surprise him. So there's that.

  “Okay, so you literally want to...chat?” He spits the word like it's poison on his tongue. To him, it probably is. “I want to talk, to get to know one another. We can ask questions, maybe learn some things about each other. See where it leads, you never know what can happen.” He looked at me then, a bit wary and, god help me, but he even looked nervous. “You don't have to answer anything you don't want to, Sherlock.” “Alright, why not? What could it hurt, right?” I beamed back at him and he smiled a slight smile and drank down the rest of his tea.

 “So, how do you want to start this?” He asked me. He seemed a bit anxious, so I decided I would begin. “Well, we can do it a few ways. You can choose a topic and we can ask each other questions about our personal experiences or we can just ask random questions and see where it leads us.” I am hoping he chooses the topic because I feel that would be a much easier route to take when one hopes to steer the topic to their advantage.

  “Is there anything off limits John? Anything you're uncomfortable talking about? The war or your military career, maybe?” I smile softly and feel warmth at his honest concern. “Nope, I don't mind talking about that stuff. I am a pretty open and honest bloke. Ask me anything.” Damn! Was that too obvious? Would Sherlock see through that? Well, he looks like he's pondering what to ask so perhaps he didn't see it. One can hope.

  “Okay, I want to go first.” Sherlock says and shifts himself on the sofa so he's leaning against the arm rest with his knees bent. “Career : What got you interested in becoming a doctor, John?” I smiled wide at this. It wasn't what I was expecting, it was so much better. I could work with this. “Honestly, I've always wanted to help people, since I was a child, really. I hated seeing people in pain, hurting and alone. If I could help, in any tiny way, I always would. There are so many people hurting in the world, Sherlock. I guess I just feel responsible to help, at least, a few of them, in any tiny way I can.” He looked at me with such appreciation and pride that it momentarily shook me, then he spoke and my heart melted. “Well, you're very good at what you do, Doctor Watson.”

  Sherlock was listening. He was actually listening and not telling me I was dull or boring or calling me an idiot. I think my heart stopped. I so rarely hear a straight forward compliment from this man but whenever I do it goes right to my heart. I must have been blushing because his small smile turned into a smug grin rather quickly.

  “Oh shut up, I am not blushing.” I looked away, knowing full well that's exactly what I was doing. Sherlock laughed his 'only for my blogger' laugh. “Yes, I believe you are, Dr. Watson. I also believe it's your turn.” I looked right at him and shook my head and laughed. “Alright, staying with the same topic, What motivated you to become a detective? I mean, clearly you're brilliant and you could have gone into any field in science. Why forensics? Why people?” He looked at me then, with both surprise and pride in his face. “Contrary to my constant remarks on the utter idiocy of most, people actually intrigue me. People constantly fascinate me with their mundane little lives and the way they treat other people and themselves. The human mind, though placid for most, is the one thing we can never truly know. Not 100 percent anyway. It's too deep, too complex, too involved and molded by every little thing that's happened to them from conception to death. I get a kind of natural high from noticing what others don't. My goal is never to put others down but to simply invite them to observe and think. It's simply when they refuse to use the brains they have that i dismiss their intelligence and cast them away. I don't hate people, John. I just refuse to tolerate idiots. You, however, you stand out to me. You fascinate me more than most and you compel me to want to know more, to see deeper and to help you understand what it is, exactly, that I see.” I melt at his words then.

  I feel like grabbing him then and pulling him into my arms. I want to kiss him, to kiss his lips, to touch his beautiful mind and to hold his neglected heart. I am, to say the least, more than a little shocked at just how much he was allowing me to know him. I really am enjoying this, quite a bit more than I thought I would.

  “Sherlock, that's incredible. Thank you, so much, for being honest with me.” I reach out and before I can think better of it I touch his hand. I want to hold it, to entangle our fingers and just hold a part of him. I don't though, I settle for just a touch and he doesn't pull away. Progress.

  “My turn, Dr. Watson.” Sherlock says while glancing down at our hands, barely touching, and smiles. “What on earth compelled you to say amazing, when everyone else was repulsed by my deductions?” His question was so straightforward it took me a minute to realize I was actually meant to answer. “Sherlock, you must know how brilliant you are. Your mind it....It's incredible, it's fascinating, it's mad but God, it's beautiful. It seems to work lightning fast and along with your eyes it notices, catalogues and deduces in seconds. It's both terrifying and refreshing that you can just look at me and within seconds, deduce everything about me. It's actually a relief because it means that I don't have to pretend to be somebody else around you. I can be myself because you would see through any rouse I attempted anyway, so what's the point? So I guess, to answer your question properly, I was...am completely and utterly enthralled by you and your mind. So while others might be put off by you, know that I am and always will be completely amazed by you.” It's his turn to grin and it's such a glorious sight to behold. He looks away and it's then that I notice the blush high on his beautiful cheekbones. “Your turn then.” He says with an affectionate smile. He's enjoying this and I am so glad.

  “Personal?” I ask, deciding I might as well just go for it. “Are you asking or telling Dr. Watson?” He's taken a liking to calling me that, I must make a mental note of that for later. “Asking, I...Don't want to make you uncomfortable. If there's anything you don't...” “No, no, no.” He waves me off “I'll tell my doctor anything, John.” He's teasing me and I'm absolutely loving it. “Okay, well, if you don't want to just say next subject, it'll be fine.” He nods and motions for me to continue. “Okay. Personal : Have you ever had any sort of relationship before me? I mean, a romantic or sexual even just a friendship, with anyone, before I moved in?” His face turns sad. There really are no words for how badly I want to hold him right now because I have a feeling I already know the answer. I also have a feeling that he feels just a little more than a bit embarrassed by it. “I...No. I mean, I had...something, but, it wasn't a proper relationship at all. It was with this kid, Victor. We were in college together and he approached me one day and asked me if I'd mind tutoring him in some basic chemistry. I rolled my eyes at his feeble attempt at asking me out but agreed anyway. I thought maybe it could work, you know? I thought, hell maybe, at the very least, I might get some attention and a little bit of affection out of it anyway. Except he didn't feel quite the same way. I helped him with his studies and he confessed he was interested in a relationship with me....But he hated to touch me. Oh, he had no problem begging for sex. It was all he thought about but I wasn't ready for that and he refused to give me the tiny amount of affection I was craving. I only let it go on for a year. I got sick of getting nothing from a man who wanted to take everything but give nothing in return. So, we separated and aside from that botched attempt I have not had any other sort of friendship ore relationship since.” I have never wanted to hold him so much in the entire three years I've known him. “So, can I ask a few more questions about that or do you want your turn?” Sherlock looked at me surprised then. “Of course, John. Ask away, I don't think we really need topics and turns anymore anyway. Don't you agree?” I nodded because this is the part where our question game becomes a conversation. This was what I was hoping for. “So, he only wanted sex but refused you basic affection? Did you...I mean, did he, at least, kiss you?....Sorry, I guess I am just really curious.” Sherlock nodded in understanding and spoke softly. “No. He tried, one night when he was drunk but his lips met the very edge of the corner of my mouth as I turned my head away in disgust. All I wanted, from him, from....someone, was maybe a bit of kissing and a cuddle once in a while. Everyone seems to think I'm asexual or just a freak but honestly I want affection just like everybody else. It's just that I've been refused it so much throughout my life that I guess I've sort of turned off my need for it, you know? I've never had basic affection. I know it's going to sound pathetic but I've never kissed anyone before and I've never so much as held hands with another person, let alone had sex. I am just extremely cautious as to who I trust and who I let in. I am surprising even myself by telling you all of this. Someone though I....I guess I trust you, you know, not to laugh at me or mock me for this.” He looks away quickly then but I see the tears glisten in those beautiful eyes. I reply without thinking “We held hands when we ran from the cops after they arrested us.” I suddenly feel like kicking myself, I''m not meaning to mock him, not at all, honestly that is one of my favourite memories of us. I hope he doesn't take it as mockery. “Yes, we certainly did.” He replies with a grin of realization on his face. I feel very relieved. “It was just easier for us to run together like that. Also, I may have been the one to suggest it but I honestly didn't think, in a million years, that you would actually take my hand. I know it didn't show then, John, but that moment made my heart soar.”

  I lose my ability to think clearly, that's the only way for me to explain what happens next. I find myself breathing deeply, I feel angered at Victor for not taking proper care of his brilliant and beautiful boyfriend. I feel sympathy for the entire world for not knowing this mad genius of a man. Most of all though, I feel an overwhelming urge to soothe and ache and sate a craving. I act without thinking and it is, quite possibly, the best thing I have ever done and it doesn't even matter what his reaction is.

  I stare at him for a few seconds, taking in his words. All he wants is to be kissed and have a cuddle. My words come out quickly and without a second thought. “Damn it, Sherlock! Why couldn't I have known you back then?” He looks at me puzzled. “John?” “I've always been told I'm too overly affectionate. I give too much of it, I guess and I want too much, as well. God Sherlock, I could have kept you so warm and satisfied. I could have held you so close and so tight and we would have had so many nights in just kissing and enjoying a cuddle on the sofa or in our bed. Anytime you needed it all you'd have to do was ask, Sherlock. Ask me to hold you tight in my arms, ask me to kiss you, endlessly until we both fell asleep, wrapped up tight and warm holding onto one another unable to bear a moment apart long enough to change or move positions. And I don't know why I am telling you all of this, I mean it's not like you have any interest in me but why the fuck should you have had to suffer when I could have given you everything you wanted? It wasn't like you were asking for much and it's not like I didn't already know, even though I refused to admit it, and it wasn't like I would have EVER told you no!” Sherlock's jaw was slack. He was without words or comprehension or thought. He seemed blown away. He seemed ready to cry. He seemed absolutely terrified. God, me and my big mouth. I've ruined it all, I have. Now I sound like a nutter and he's probably going to throw me out or demand I don't speak to or look at him ever again. God, he's going to speak! I close my eyes expecting to hear the worst, expecting to hear him laugh.

  “Where indeed, John?!” He replies. “I want to know, John, is that offer available now, as well? Or just when you were young and not so sure of your heterosexuality?” I look up at him then. His face is so hopeful and, at the same time, so terrified and embarrassed that it melts my heart on the spot. “God, of course it's still available, Sherlock. You should not be refused a basic human indulgence, Sherlock. Especially not that.” He smiled brightly at that. He was open and warm and he appeared so damn excited for a simple cuddle that it broke me. “Sherlock?” “Yes, John?” “Can I please kiss you?” “Please, John! Oh god, please!!” He was trembling then, both his voice and his words.

  So I smile softly at him and lean in. I squeeze his hand gently and then move both of mine up to hold his face. I stare into his eyes and notice him closing his. His breathing already speeding up. I lean in and meet his lips with such a soft pressure that he probably barely felt it. I just want him to know what it feels like to have the pressure there. I pull back and look into his eyes and he looks about to cry. So I kiss him again, this time with more pressure and more determination. He seems momentarily stunned because he doesn't move at first. Then, when he realizes that this is really happening he begins to kiss me back. He has beautiful technique and pressure for a man who has never kissed before. He begins to rub his chest against mine, like he needs to be closer. I remember that he likes to cuddle, as well, so I smile into his kiss and wrap my arms around him gently but firmly. He moans and seems to melt into me. He's making my head spin but I couldn't care less because this was perfect. This was bliss.

  “John, I...” kiss. “I forget...” Kiss , kiss. “I forget whose turn it is.” Kiss. Kiss, kiss....”Sherlock?” Kiss....”Yes, John?” “Shut up!” Kiss. “Yes, John.” Kiss.

  We must have been kissing a long while. My stomach begins to growl and I remembered I hadn't eaten anything yet. “Sherlock?” Kiss. “Yes, John?” Kiss. “We should eat.” Kiss, kiss, kiss. “John?” Kiss. “Yes, Sherlock?” “Shut up.” Kiss. “No, seriously Sherlock. I want to eat something. I'm bloody hungry.” Kiss. “John?” ....”Yes, Sherlock?” Kiss. “If you stop this I will kill you and make sure I personally oversee your murder investigation. I won't be convicting myself.” I pull back and laugh wholeheartedly at that. He smiles back at me. A smile I've never seen before. It was so open, happy and so affectionate that I want to cry. Instead I just beam back at him, take his face in my hands, kiss him once more, softly, and reply. “Sherlock, you're a terrible liar now let's order takeaway, shall we? That way we don't have to leave the flat.” He sighs with an overly dramatic, very obviously fake annoyance. “You're so adorable when you're post cuddle.” He smirked then but I could tell he enjoyed the fact that I wasn't afraid to say it. “John, I feel drunk...or high. Is...Is this normal, after?” I smile softly and hold him gently for a moment or two. “Yes, Sherlock. It's one of the best natural highs there is. It's why I love it so much. Sex is amazing too, but, I adore this so much. Kissing just seems so intimate, so personal and, if you're with the right person, it feels amazing.” He nods, still seemingly confused by all his body is currently feeling. “I think I get it, It's just....Kissing, for me anyway, is like drinking salt water. The more you drink the more you crave. I didn't want to stop, John. I never want to stop.” I grin from ear to ear then. “That good, am I?”

  He smiled and bit his lip. He looked away then but I could see the blush rising on his cheeks and grinned up at him. God, I could devour him when he was like this. He looked incredible. From our recent conversation about relationships I realized he probably had never heard any sort of compliments until he met me. A stranger would say that I was being naive or thinking quite highly of myself. Anyone who really knew, and liked, Sherlock, knew that I probably wasn't very far off. The only people to actually show a positive interest in Sherlock were myself, Molly and Lestrade. Well, Mycroft, as well, but that was an odd sort of disconnected, Holmsian style, brotherly compassion. There's was an odd relationship, to say the least. So, I decided that I would start making it a point to compliment this man on more than just his mind. He was incredible and gorgeous and he deserved to hear that, as well as how bloody brilliant he was.

  I order our food while he stands and begins puttering around the kitchen. “Some tea would be lovely, actually.” He stops and just stares at me. “You're not waiting for the food to arrive?” I shake my head and reply “No. I ordered drinks with our food. So, I fancy tea while I wait. Unless you would rather me make it.” He looks a bit confused, as if our two hour snog on the sofa had somehow changed the rules of our relationship, whatever that was now. “Sherlock, it's fine. If you would like me to make it, it's no problem. Don't worry.” He looks a bit put off now. “I...I'm not worried. Why would I be worried? I have absolutely no reason to be worried.” I smile and shake my head as I pass him in the kitchen. “No reason at all,” I say and begin filling the kettle and making our tea. He speaks up after a ten second silence. “John, um...I don't want things to change. I mean, I liked what we did. I liked it a lot. I just don't want you to expect...” I turn around then and stop him with a soft kiss. “Don't think for one second, Sherlock, that I would ever expect you to change just because I kissed you.”

  He looks about to pass out with relief. I wrap my arms around him while we stand in the kitchen. I don't much care who walks in, this man needs to hear this. “Sherlock, I like you, a lot. I love living here with you. I love running London and chasing serial killers and solving mad cases with you. I love being the only one you share your private life with. I don't mind your bad days when you don't have a case or when you're so bored you steal my gun and shoot the walls. God knows, I love that you know me so well and that you can deduce me in seconds and know everything I've been up to.” “Well, you're ridiculously easy to read, John.” I smile at him. “I know. I bite my lip before I admit this next part. It could go over really well or very bad. I take a deep breath and begin. “I also love it when you call me an idiot because I know you don't mean it and for us it's a term of endearment. At least, that's how I feel when you say it to me. I don't know why but I feel like it's your way of...” He clears his throat then. I fear he's going to tell me I'm completely wrong. He speaks. “John, you're not a daft as everyone else. When I call you an idiot it's beca....It's because I care about you and I want you to see. I want you to observe and be able to see things the way I do. I don't need you to be me but I just want to prove to everyone else that you are so much smarter than they give you credit for. Also, I say it because I...because I don't know how to say what I feel when you look at me the way you do when I'm particularly clever. When you constantly compliment me by saying 'Fantastic' or 'Amazing' or Extraordinary.' I can't handle that. I was so shocked when you said that the first time I deduced you. I thought for sure you were going to tell me off and get out of the cab and leave. I thought I would never see you again and when you didn't run away from me but instead, you ran with me, I almost didn't believe it was happening. To be honest I didn't believe it until the next morning when I woke up and you were still here. But God, John. When you shot that cabby, for me. When I realized it was you, I stopped breathing. I know I seemed fine mentioning it to you but when I went to bed that night I...”

  He stops talking and turns bright red in the face. He's embarrassed. God, no. I have to stop this. I want him to be able to open up to me without fear or embarrassment. I tighten my arms around him and lay my head against his chest. I decide that maybe I should say something to ease the tension he's feeling right now.

  “Sherlock, you have no idea how terrified I was. I thought you were going to take that bloody pill and I'd never see you again. I couldn't handle that. I'd only just bloody well met you. I wasn't keen on losing you. I panicked and I had absolutely no idea what came over me but I just thought, it's either him or Sherlock but I didn't fancy attending your funeral so soon after just meeting you. I wanted to know you, really know you. God Sherlock, I was already so in love with you. One day was all it took for me to realize that you were everything I've ever wanted in a partner. You were perfect and you were going to be mine. I didn't know it then but god I love you, Sherlock. I don't ever want to date another woman, or kiss another woman or even look at another bloody woman. I only want you, Sherlock. Just you. So please, don't ever feel embarrassed or unsure of your words, okay? Just be open and as honest with me as you can. You already know I'm here to stay so you might as well take advantage of it, right?” He had gone completely still. I hadn't even realized what I was saying until about ten seconds of complete silence from him.

  “Sherlock?” I glance up at him then. He has a look between utter shock and total disbelief on his face. It was then that I clued in to how much I had actually divulged. “Oh, my god.” I look away and suddenly I am the one blushing and attempting to get away. He doesn't let me. In fact, he holds me tighter. “No, John.” “Sorry?” I steal another glance at him but I just can't do it. I look away again. I feel ridiculous and stupid and I fear he's going to run. “No. Don't you dare run from this. You tell me that you meant that. You better tell me it was all true and that you really feel that way because what I want to tell you depends on your complete and utter honesty, John. I NEED to know that your words are honest and that you're not just playing with my heart right now.” I make myself look at him then. Our eyes meet and I find mine wet as I attempt to blink away the tears. They come anyway. “I would never play with your heart, Sherlock and it hurts me that you think I could. I just, I am sorry. I didn't mean to reveal so much of that but once I started talking I couldn't stop and before I knew what I was saying I had already revealed too much. Please, just don't laugh at me or tell me I'm ridiculous or insane. I feel it enough as it is right now. I don't think I could handle hearing it from you after everything I just confessed.” He looks at me and shakes his head. He is smirking at me now. “You're an idiot, John.”

  That's all he says for a full two minutes. I want to reply but instead I just cry into his chest. I feel like running away and hiding but he doesn't let me go. He just holds me and begins to speak again.

  “That night I went to bed feeling overwhelmed with emotions I didn't know I could feel.” I choose now to wrap my arms back around him and hold him tighter. “You see, John. I can feel emotions I just choose not to because whenever I allow myself to feel, they seem to hit me like a freight train. I feel every emotion and all at once. It's a terrifying and sickening feeling, John, to not be able to control your own feelings, your own heart. God, I knew you were right upstairs. I knew you were here, in my home. You, this new man who charged into my life, and my heart, without warning. You, who didn't run when I deduced you to pieces. You, who has shown me not only kindness, but friendship and great affection. You, who said 'Fantastic' instead of 'Freak.' John, I couldn't deduce what was wrong with you and I felt like my mind was betraying me. I felt like if I couldn't find it, couldn't deduce it then I must be losing my mind, losing my skill. I....I cried my heart out that night, John. I cried, half because I thought I was losing my mind and half because I knew that I wasn't, I had proven to you, and to myself, that I am still as harp as ever. I cried because I couldn't believe you were real and you wanted to be around me, to be flatmates with me and because, most bizarre of all, because you seemed to enjoy being around me and you wanted, from what I deduced, to be...because you wanted to be friends, with me. I can't...I still can't...John, I can't...” He begins to shake from crying and I can feel his breathing catch.

  To anyone else this would seem like such a ridiculous conversation. Everyone has friends and everyone has lovers and relationships and people who genuinely care. Everyone, except Sherlock Holmes, the loneliest, of men and yet the most beautiful and most intelligent man that I have ever met.

  “Sherlock, you brilliant, beautiful, amazing man! God, why are people so stupid, Sherlock? Why? Why can't they just see you? Why can't everyone see you like I see you? I hate what the world has done to you, Sherlock. I really do.”

  He shakes his head and I can feel his tears hit my face as I turn my face up to look him in the eyes. I reach my hand up to wipe his tears and he just cries harder. I take his hand and lead him back to the sofa. What this man needs right now is a good cuddle. I sit on the sofa and open my arms. He looks down at his feet before smiling shyly and climbing onto the sofa and laying down, wrapping his arms tight around me. He lays his head on my chest and just holds onto my body, as tight as he can. I rub his back and just sit and let him cry. He has had to hold in so much emotion. He needed to let this out, I know the feeling all too well. When you hold back emotion you can only do it for so long before it all comes back out at once. This was it for him. He just needed the right moment with the right person and I feel so very privileged that it's me. I hold him tight, squeezing him a bit tighter every once in a while just to let him know I'm still here, still listening and still caring. For all of the mornings waking up at 3 am hearing the violin playing. For all of the nights listening to him go out of his mind without a case. For all of the hours, the days, the weeks of him going out of his mind trying to occupy his overactive brain, this has to be the hardest thing he has ever had to do. This man who claims not to feel at all, feels so much more than anyone could ever imagine. This man who claims to have no heart and not care about anyone or anything, sat here crying his heart out because someone, after 36 years, finally decided to show him a little kindness, a little acceptance. Someone finally noticed him and made him feel special and he is so overwhelmed by the very concept of having a friend that it causes him to overload with emotion, it causes him to break, it completely wrecks him. Just one simple little confession of love from me, his blogger, his doctor, his colleague, his friend and it moves him to disbelief and tears.

  Sherlock Holmes' problem is not that he doesn't feel at all. No, not even close. Sherlock Holmes' problem, if you could even call it that, I don't, is that he feels far, far too much. He is just very talented in hiding it in front of others whom he does not care to reveal his true side to. I feel grateful then, for having been shot in Afghanistan. I feel grateful then, for having met up with Mike in the park that day and for allowing him to introduce me to Sherlock Holmes. I feel grateful for being the one to work by his side and to share his personal life. I feel even more grateful because I am pretty sure I know the answer to my next few questions.

  “Sherlo-” “I've been waiting my whole life for you, John Watson.” he says over me.

  I can't breathe anymore. I literally feel like the air has been sucked from my lungs and I just sit there with him wrapped around me and I do the only thing my body will allow me to do. I kiss him. I kiss him so hard and so completely that we are literally panting and shaking when we part. He speaks first and renders me completely useless.

  “Will you be with me, John Watson?” I melt then. My arms go slack around him. My jaw goes slack and my entire body feels limp and I feel like I'm in the afterglow of climax. I'm weak and I want to answer but I just can't make myself talk. Stupid brain, stupid body betraying me at the most inappropriate time. I feel like an idiot now. This man is waiting, wanting and needing an answer. I just sit there barely holding on to him and feeling like he's got a vice like grip on my heart. I want to rip it out of my chest and hand it to him, signed with a disclosure form typed up and signed with my signature. It would read.

  
  


To Sherlock,

With ultimate love and affection.

Yours truly and for always,

John Hamish Watson.

  
  


  To my surprise he grins at me and he looks so blissfully happy that it just tears my heart in two. One half is mine, forever and always and it only beats for him. The other half is his, he's stolen it and it's no longer under my control. It beats for him, as well, but that half is now a part of his own heart. It has fused itself to him. It's found a home in his chest, decided it likes it there and now refuses to leave, ever and you know what? That is perfectly okay with the both of us.

  He knows, now. I don't have to speak it. I don't have to say yes, I don't have to nod or be coherent or say I love you or anythings else. He know by my very reaction to his question, what my answer is. He deduced it and accepted it.

  Our food arrives and we tear our bodies apart from each other to go and collect it. The delivery driver noticed Sherlock's red eyes and my tired and sluggish movements and he must have thought we'd had a row. We both deduced it at the same time and when we closed the door and made it back upstairs to the sofa to eat our food, we both laughed. I couldn't believe how much had changed since this morning. I couldn't believe that I had actually helped him and made him smile the way he was right now. Mostly, I can't believe how bloody wrong I was this morning. This man doesn't need sex, though I am sure that will come in time. All this man needed was a little bit of affection. An afternoon cuddle and a few snogs, some understanding and to simply feel loved. This man, for all his faults and madness, for all his claims of being different than everyone else, has just proven that, when it comes to his heart, he really is like everyone else. He needs to be loved, just like anyone else would. However, it takes a special kind of person to fall in love with Sherlock Holmes and I am honored to be that man.

  I look over at him and he's eating. He's really and truly eating and he's enjoying it. I grin so wide my face hurts. He notices and grins back. Then he says what, I have to admit, is the most adorable thing he has ever, and will ever, utter.

  “What? Snogging makes me hungry, apparently.” How can I possibly smile any wider. I'm laughing and grinning like an idiot and not caring and it's wonderful. I reply to him and he stops, swallows and suddenly the whole world stops. “You're bloody beautiful, you know that, Sherlock?” He freezes, but not in a painful way. He's not hurt, he's not afraid, he just seems surprised and then he leans over and takes my face in his hands before he speaks. “And you, John Watson, are the most beautiful soul I have ever met.” He kisses me and I stop breathing.

  Our food is going cold. I don't care. My back hurts from spending the day on the sofa kissing and holding him. I don't care. There are dishes to be cleaned, laundry to be done, phone calls to be returned and I've spent the entire day laying about on the couch snogging my boyfriend. I don't care. My life, as I knew it, has been irreversibly changed. I don't bloody well care.

  There is life. There is Sherlock. There is me. When you do the math, when you really sit down and do the bloody math none of it should make sense. I still can't make sense of it. It doesn't matter what the math says. It doesn't matter what logic or some dumb star sign, or fate tells you. When you meet someone so extraordinary, so brilliant and so unbelievably beautiful, when you first meet them, you get that feeling. You know you're doomed, you know you're falling, that you've fallen in love, so hard and so completely that your mind ceases to exist. All logic fails you and your actions are then guided only by your heart and your desire to be with that person. When you find that pull that leads you to them you know there is nowhere else in the world you would rather be. You know, there is no-one in this world you would rather be with. You know there is nothing in this world you would not do for them and the very thought of losing them physically hurts you. That's when you know the pain of true love. It's not when you lose them, it's so much earlier than that because you know, deep in your heart no matter how much you want to ignore it, that everybody has a time. Everybody dies. Nobody knows it like The World's Only Consulting Detective and nobody feels it like his partner, his blogger, his doctor and friend, John Watson.

  
********************************************************************************************

 

  Ella sits across from me and I've lost my ability to speak. She speaks but I don't want to hear her. I don't want to hear anybody. I hate everything and everyone that is alive, that is happy and that is not Sherlock Holmes. My heart feels ripped in two. My half shredded into fine pieces, lost to the busy streets of London. The other half stopped beating, is permanently broken and has exploded into a puddle of blood on the pavement at the foot of St. Bart's hospital. It hurts to speak. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to think. It hurts to remember and it hurts to need. Yet, here I sit, with Ella and she is asking me to do all of those things. She speaks and I want to end her breathing. I want to end her sad, pathetic, miserable life. I hate her then. I hate her for knowing why I am here and for making me say it, for making me admit what I am wanting so badly to be a lie, clever trick, or even just a nightmare. I want to wake up. I want this not to be real. Why am I not waking up? Why is he gone? Why am I not back at our flat, wrapped up in his arms, losing track of time while we're enjoying a cuddle and a snog on the sofa. Why am I here, with Ella? Why am I about to speak and why does it feel like I've completely lost my heart and soul? I speak and I don't even believe my own words. Surely he'll wake me soon, Sherlock. Surely I'm screaming and he'll wake me. For now, though, I'll say the words she wants to hear. I'll say them and I'll leave this place, this dream, this...nightmare. I'll tell Sherlock about it and he'll hold me. He'll hold me in his arms and we'll kiss and make love and everything will be as it was. Yes, I'll say the words because the words don't have power if you don't believe in them, right?

  
  


Ella : “Why today?” She looks at me with curiosity.

  
  


Me : I glare at her. “You wanna hear me say it?”

  
  


Ella : “18 months since our last appointment.”

  
  


Me : “You read the papers?” I feel like she's being deliberately cruel.

  
  


Ella : “Sometimes.”

  
  


Me : “Uhh...And you watch telly?”

  
  


Ella : nothing

  
  


Me : “You know why I'm here....I'm here becau...Mmm...” I take a deep breath and swallow....My words feel hot and heavy and I hate them. I hate everything.

  
  


Ella : Leans forward as if suddenly she's interested in what's going on. I hate her for it. “What happened, John?”

  
  


_~“This phone call, it's my note.”~_

  
  


Me : “Sherlo..” I stop. I don't want to. It hurts so much and why the hell isn't Sherlock waking me?! I'm getting mad. I'm so bloody mad at him. He is always awake and he always knows when I'm dreaming. He chose now to sleep didn't he?

  
  


_~This is what people do don't they? Leave a note?”_

  
  


Ella : “You need to get it out.”

  
  


_~”Leave a note, when?”~_

  
  


Me : “My best friend,”

  
  


_~”Goodbye, John.”~_

  
  


Me : “Sherlock Holmes,”

  
  


_~”No!”~_

  
  


Me : “Is dead.”

  
  


_~”SHERLOCK!!!”~_

 


End file.
